Christmas Ornaments in June

The revelry of New Year's Eve never made much sense to me: just another excuse for boozers to party and for kids to stay up late.

But today, I understand.

Just a week ago, the standing in lines for the perfect gifts, the flurry of shiny paper taped just so and sparkly bows tied exactly right, the music about trees and bells and elves and a manger, the smells of cinnamon and nutmeg and turkey and cranberries, all consumed the hours. For a month or more, visions of Christmas danced in our heads.

And then suddenly, wadded paper and torn boxes filled huge garbage bags. Denuded evergreens appeared on the easements waiting for trash pick-up. Songs on the radio shifted immediately to the Top-40 without one Bing Crosby or Perry Como classic in the bunch.

I came home from Florida with the post-Christmas blues. Twelve uneventful hours on the road on the 26th had given me plenty of time to make a mental to-do list, but I couldn't bring myself to pack up decorations, clear the kitchen table of wrapping paper and bows, or even write thank-you notes.

Instead I burned the evergreen Yankee Candle, watched Natalie Wood's "Miracle on 34th Street," and ate leftover cranberry relish and candy canes. I turned the chiming Christmas clock back on and played Gene Autry vinyls. And then it occurred to me.

New Year's Eve parties give people one last chance to play before the work of life gets into full swing again. One last opportunity to mingle and chat. One last hurrah. One last indulgence.

But why end the holidays there? In four days, classes will begin again, and I won't have a spare moment. Even even knowing that, I've chosen not to pack up all the green wreaths and red bows, the twinkling lights and the cinnamon sticks just yet. Maybe the first long weekend I get (happy birthday MLK!), I'll stash it safely back in Christmas boxes. Of course, it may be Spring Break before those neatly labeled boxes actually make it to the attic, but I don't care.

I don't care because I want something visible to remind me of what I learned this Christmas, something that I don't want ever to forget: That song that says, "Christmas comes but once a year" is a lie. Christmas comes every day -- as long as I do kindnesses to others. The greatest gift I received this season was the joy that filled my heart when I handed a tangerine and a bag of Chex Mix to a homeless man on the street: he tore into it, hungry and truly grateful. . . but I knew that he would still be hungry a week later, a month later. He might find some group who would feed him a lovely Christmas dinner, but where would they be in February?

Then I read "The Grapes of Wrath" in preparation for classes this quarter and was again reminded of man's inhumanity to man. I look around at my home, fairly modest by the standards of my society, but extravagent in comparison to the majority of the world and certainly to a cardboard shelter under an overpass. Should I have given my brother a gold tie for Christmas or fed forty people? Should I keep the dvd my mother gave me or exchange it for food to distribute?

In a few short days, schoolwork will overwhelm me. But I want to be reminded of the needs of others, of the ways I can bring Christmas to them throughout the year. So, if you come to my house and see an ornament hanging here and there, know that the holiday of giving lasts all year long . . .

Oh, God, please don't let me allow New Year's Day to be the last hurrah. Let it be a celebration of what you will do through me this year to bless others.